


Got Balls?

by Ellory



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU-HBP, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 22:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13490793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellory/pseuds/Ellory
Summary: Harry Potter was passionate about Quidditch. It was one of the few escapes he had; he found freedom in the air as he chased a small golden ball. Therefore, he wouldn't allow anything to tarnish the game. Not even one of his closest friends.





	Got Balls?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on fanfiction.net many years ago.

“He deserved it,” Hermione said fiercely.

“What?” Harry asked in shock. She couldn’t have seriously done that, could she?

“You should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny! He’s got a nasty temper. You wouldn’t want someone like that on the team,” Hermione lectured.

Harry’s hands clenched into fists. “That doesn’t give you the right to Confound him!” he snapped. “He had as much right to try out as everyone else.”

Hermione sighed loudly. “Look Harry, I understand that you like being fair and all, but Ron deserves to be on the Quidditch Team,” she said.

“Only if he earns his place!” Harry replied.

“He did!” Hermione said. “He won the Keeper position in the tryouts. He was clearly better and McLaggen would ruin your team dynamics anyway. I just helped you solve a problem efficiently. You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” Harry asked in disbelief. “You rigged the tryouts!”

“Oh honestly, it’s not that big a—”

“That’s just it! It is a big deal, Hermione! They’re supposed to be impartial so that everyone has a fair chance. No matter how much I dislike him personally, he still should have the opportunity to—”

“He’s a prat,” she spat. “Just get over it, Harry. The tryouts have been finished, Ron got the Keeper position, and everyone’s happy.”

Harry stared at her in shock. Yeah, he knew that she had a crush on Ron, but rigging the tryouts so he’d make the team? That was ridiculous. He couldn’t allow something like that to happen. It wasn’t fair. He might not like McLaggen, but McLaggen was passionate about Quidditch. He deserved a fair shot at winning the Keeper position.

“I’ll have to schedule the Pitch so that the tryouts for the Keeper position can be held again,” he mumbled softly.

“What?” she snapped. “Harry, you can’t be serious!”

“I bloody well am! He has every right to earn his position as the rest of us did. If there were a better Seeker I’d step down, no matter how much I love the game,” Harry stated adamantly.

“But Harry, he’s horrid! I thought he was going to punch you earlier,” she said, staring at her best friend like he’d gone mental.

“You’d Confounded him. That could have very well been a result of the spell you cast,” he replied.

A blush spread across her cheeks, vibrant and fiery red. “Harry, you should just leave things the way they are and—”

“Hermione Granger, you are not always right! You don’t always know what’s best for others, and frankly, you have no right to decide for them. Yes, you’re my friend, and so is Ron for that matter, but I’m not going to cheat for either one of you!” he declared heatedly.

“It wasn’t cheating—”

Harry sneered at her, looking almost identical to Snape for a moment. “Oh? What do you call it then—stacking the odds in Ron’s favor?” He watched her mouth gape open and continued, “I seem to remember someone in first year that messed with my broom. It’s not a nice place to be.”

Hermione winced at the insinuation. Harry had essentially just compared her to Quirrell, and thus, Voldemort. “I just wanted to help,” she whispered.

Harry sighed. “I get that, Mione. But you know what, sometimes people don’t need help! Sometimes people have to do things by themselves and make their own mistakes. Just think about it,” he said before turning and walking away. She might be book smart, but in other ways, his friend was remarkably dim.

He headed up to Gryffindor Tower so he could inform them that the Keeper tryouts would have to be redone. Hopefully McGonagall would allow them to schedule time on the Pitch tomorrow morning. He was just lucky that Gryffindor had their team tryouts last and official practices wouldn’t begin for another week.

Harry lifted one hand and scrubbed it down his face lightly. He really wasn’t looking forward to this confrontation. Ron would be angry and everyone else would be asking questions.

He’d just rounded the corner and came to abrupt halt when he found himself about to crash into Professor McGonagall. “Sorry Professor,” he said quickly as he took a step backwards.

“It’s perfectly all right, Mr. Potter.” She peered over the top of her spectacles to gaze down at him. “I assume that the Quidditch tryouts went well?”

“Not exactly,” Harry replied as he scuffed his toe against the floor.

“Oh? Please elaborate, Mr. Potter. What seems to be the problem?” she inquired.

Harry watched her pinch her lips together and hoped to avoid an argument. He would stand by his decision regardless, but he needed her permission to book the Pitch for their use tomorrow morning. “I need the Keeper trials to be redone,” he said clearly.

One eyebrow rose and her eyes narrowed on him. “And why is that, Mr. Potter? I assumed that someone would have already been chosen,” she stated.

“Yeah, it’s about that,” Harry replied.

“Was Mr. Weasley not chosen?” she asked. “I’m afraid we can’t simply redo them because he wasn’t picked—”

“Huh?” Harry asked. “No, that’s not it at all. Actually, Ron was the one who made the team.”

“Then what seems to be the problem?” she asked. Harry saw the confused look in her eyes, and didn’t doubt for a second that she was wondering why in the world he’d ask to have them redone when his best mate had made the team.

Harry’s hand rose and rubbed the back of his neck. “I found out after they were over that…someone had Confounded Cormac McLaggen.”

“That’s a serious allegation, Mr. Potter. Punishment for tampering with Quidditch practices, games, and tryouts is detention at best and removal from the school at worst,” McGonagall declared. Her eyes narrowed even further, boring into him. “Who—never mind, it was obviously Miss Granger.”

Harry winced. Yes, what Hermione had done was wrong, but he didn’t think that she should be expelled for it.

“It was only a Confundus Charm?” McGonagall asked severely.

“Yes Professor,” he answered.

“Very well then, I’ll see that she serves detention with me several times this week.” McGonagall tilted her head slightly to the side. “Are you sure you want to redo the Keeper trials? Mr. Weasley might not make the team this time.”

Harry’s hands clenched into fists, but he refused to look away. “Yes, it’s the right thing to do.”

A small smile appeared on her face. “Very well, Mr. Potter, I’ll have the Pitch booked for your use tomorrow morning.” She placed one sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Would you like for me to tell them?”

Harry shook his head decisively. “No thanks. I’ll do it, Professor.”

“All right then,” she replied. She dropped her hand and walked around him, heading off to fulfill the promise she’d just made and secure the Pitch for Gryffindor.

Harry continued through the hallways and up the staircases. He paused when he was right in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady. “It’s the right thing to do,” he repeated once more, already picturing the rage and hateful words Ron would spit at him for this.

“What’s the right thing, dear?” the portrait asked.

“Golden Snitch,” he said, ignoring her question and speaking the password. He noticed that she’d folded her arms over her ample bosom and huffed before swinging open, but disregarded it. He had larger things to worry about; offending a portrait didn’t even matter at the moment—this could cost him his best mate.

He stepped into the common room and gazed at the activity. Several older students were studying at the tables, a couple of third-years were playing Exploding Snap, and Ron was facing off against Seamus in wizarding chess near the unlit fireplace.

His eyes brushed over them for the most part as he looked for one person in particular. He really didn’t want to have to explain this more than once. There, back in an armchair that’d been pushed into a corner, was Cormac McLaggen. His tall build seemed to dwarf the chair, making Harry wonder how it could possibly support his weight. He wasn’t fat; he was simply tall and well-muscled. It stopped just short of being too bulky.

McLaggen’s eyes were a pale blue, and Harry could just make them out beneath the wiry brown hair that was falling into them. The hair wasn’t particularly long, but it almost succeeded in shielding those eyes from view because of how he was hunched over a novel. His eyes weren’t moving though, which let Harry know he wasn’t reading whatever was written in it.

Harry walked across the room silently, thankful that everyone was too occupied to glance up and see him. There was something about the way McLaggen was hunched over that was bothering him. It reminded him too much of how he’d curl up in his cupboard after he’d been informed the Dursleys were taking Dudley somewhere wonderful and he _wasn’t_ allowed to come along.

He made sure to walk slowly and carefully, so he wouldn’t attract attention, and finally reached a place where he could observe the other boy. Harry’s teeth sank into his lip when he saw the expression on McLaggen’s face; it was pained, bitter, disappointed, and confused.

Harry could easily imagine that McLaggen was replaying the tryouts repeatedly in his mind, trying to find out what had happened. Those brows were furrowed in thought and little lines marred what would have otherwise been smooth skin.

“Bleeding hell, what happened?” McLaggen muttered to himself. “It was like I wasn’t in control, and I humiliated myself in front of everyone.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek at those words. He knew what it felt like to be humiliated, and it wasn’t ever something he’d want to feel again if he could help it.

“I made an arse of myself in front of Harry, and then lost control of my temper. Merlin, he must think I’m an arsehole, and he has every right to.” McLaggen’s left hand let go of the book and rose to tug absently at his hair. “I just wanted to play with him once,” he said wistfully. “I just wanted him to know who I was. Stupid! He’s Harry Potter, there’s no way he’d care who I am. He probably didn’t even know my name before today, and after what happened he’ll likely continue to pretend I don’t exist.”

Harry barely kept a gasp from escaping his mouth. It was true, he hadn’t really known who McLaggen was until today, and then he’d judged him just as people had judged him—Harry—his entire life. Harry winced at that bit of truth, but wouldn’t deny it. He had a chance to set things right.

Harry stepped forward, deliberately scraping his shoes on the floor so he’d catch McLaggen’s attention. He saw panic in those blue eyes before it quickly faded to indifference, and Harry found himself wondering how many times McLaggen suppressed his emotions instead of displaying them. Harry did something almost identical himself; it was easier to be ignored than ridiculed on most days.

“Can I help you?” McLaggen asked with a sneer.

Harry tilted his head to the side curiously. “I’m sorry for not noticing,” he said.

McLaggen’s body didn’t move, but his muscles bunched and clenched. “I don’t know what you mean, Potter,” he said slowly.

“I think you do,” Harry replied. He continued to stare at the boy seated before him, and he found a great many similarities between them. Was he really so blind?

McLaggen swallowed dryly, fingers twitching nervously and stroking down the spine of the book on his lap. “Whatever you think you’ve figured out—”

“Don’t let me down, Cormac. You’re only getting one more chance,” Harry replied, deliberately interrupting him. He turned and had only taken one step when the softly whispered words, that he knew were meant to remain unheard, reached his ears. ‘You know my name.’ A small smile appeared on his face and then rapidly vanished as he realized he couldn’t possibly put this off any longer.

Harry walked over to the portrait and leaned against it, prepared to flee as soon as he’d delivered his announcement. He had many things to ponder on, and wasn’t in the mood for an argument.

He pulled out his wand and aimed it at his throat. “ _Sonorus!_ ” he said. Harry took a deep breath and then said, “Due to some unforeseen circumstances, the Keeper tryouts will be held again tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m. on the Pitch. Anyone who’s interested in trying out is to be present and properly attired. That is all.”

He saw the shock on Cormac’s face, the rage on Ron’s, the confusion on the other students’ and turned, walking away briskly. He’d deal with the questions and accusations later. Right now, he had more important things to consider.

He’d unconsciously been acting exactly like the Dursleys.

\--

Harry walked down the hallways in silence, thoughts racing through his mind one after the other. Cormac’s quietly whispered words and self-admonishments were painful. How many times as a child had he hoped that today would be the day the Dursleys realized he existed?

Yes, he’d been sort of peripherally aware of the other boy, but he’d never taken the time to talk with him. He’d never introduced himself to Cormac. Hell, he’d never really introduced himself to much of anyone!

With every step he took, Harry became more aware of exactly how he treated others, and was thus treated in return. The corridors weren’t empty, in fact, they were fairly full. However, none of the students approached him. Not one. He could see them looking at him curiously, and a few were whispering about him, but none of them approached him. Why?

He dragged his feet slightly when he overheard two girls from Ravenclaw speaking softly.

“Ask for his help with the spell. Everyone knows he’s the best in our year at Defense,” one whispered.

She looked vaguely familiar to Harry. He’d probably had several classes together with her over the past six years, and he couldn’t even remember her name. How horrible was that?

“Are you kidding? He’s Harry Potter! He doesn’t even really talk to anyone other than Granger, the Weasleys and Malfoy,” her friend replied.

Harry’s eyes flew wide as those words resounded through his head. Was that true? Was he really that unapproachable and isolated? His hands clenched into fists and his teeth sank into his bottom lip. Harry began walking more quickly, knowing he needed to find a quiet place so that he’d be able to think.

After crossing the Entrance Hall he left the school, heading down towards the lake. Not many people were outside, even though it was Saturday. He sat down on the grass and leaned back against a particularly large rock, staring out at the water that was rippling in the wind.

“Is it true? Was she right?” he asked himself.

Harry cast his mind about, trying to prove the girl’s words either true or false. He spoke to Hagrid, when he could find the time to visit him… and he made sure to answer the professors’ questions when he was in class… he’d spent time with the DA!

“Does that even count?” he asked softly.

He only seemed to see Hagrid in class these days. It was like he didn’t have time to visit him anymore, which was completely ridiculous seeing as he had plenty of free time. As for answering the professors in class, that couldn’t possibly count.

But the DA—he didn’t really interact with any of them though. Yes, he’d helped them, but only because Hermione had convinced him that he should. He hadn’t even really wanted to do it. And that’d only lasted for part of last school year. On top of that, he only met with them a few times a week, if that often, and Ron and Hermione had always been there beside him.

His forehead wrinkled as he tried to remember a time of day when he wasn’t with either Ron or Hermione or the both of them. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, classes, after classes… bloody hell. He really was with them all the time. The only time they hadn’t been together before this year was during Quidditch practices and games.

Harry stared out at the water dazedly. He’d never realized that he was so isolated in this wonderful and magical world he’d entered.

He talked with Malfoy—though it was really fighting—more than he talked with his own year mates and they lived in the same bloody room!

“Six years and I have two friends and a few acquaintances and no one to blame but myself,” he muttered.

How many people had wanted to ask him a question, but didn’t approach because he was ‘Harry Potter’? How many people had wanted to befriend him, but didn’t even bother trying because he, Ron and Hermione were jokingly referred to as the ‘Golden Trio’? How many times had someone just wanted to talk with him, or play a game with him, only to stop themselves because he didn’t seem to ever associate with anyone else? Who had decided to not even try because they didn’t want to be refused and made to look like a fool?

“What have I done?”

Harry’s breathing sped up, and he could see black and white spots taking over his vision in places. He’d always hated the Dursleys because they kept him isolated, hidden away from the world. And here he was, doing it to himself for six years straight without even noticing! He tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a desperate sob.

He was always saying that he wanted to be ‘just Harry’, and yet, how could he be ‘just Harry’ when he spent so much time showing everyone he was Harry Potter: the Boy Who Lived.

Boy…

He hated that word with a passion. He’d thought it was his name for so long, and then he’d learned the truth. He remembered curling up in his cupboard wondering why his uncle and aunt always called him that. It was like they couldn’t even be bothered to speak his real name, to get to know him.

Harry flinched. He treated Colin and Dennis Creevey much as the Dursleys had treated him. Ignoring them when at all possible and telling them to bugger off the rest of the time.

Merlin, Snape was right.

Snape was always saying that he was just like his father: arrogant, snooty, looking down on others. His hands fisted in his hair as he stared at the lake desperately. He hadn’t meant to be! He hadn’t even realized he was doing it… and didn’t that make it all the more pathetic and horrible?

A shadow appeared before him and he looked up to see Neville Longbottom. Neville’s hands were twisting anxiously, and his mouth opened and closed repeatedly as if he wasn’t sure he should speak or not. The sight made Harry wince once again. Is this what he’d become? Someone so isolated that even a boy he’d shared a room with for six years was afraid to bother him? Even after they’d fought together in the Ministry last year?

“Neville?” he said softly.

Neville jumped slightly and colored with embarrassment. “Uh, sorry to bother you, Harry,” he said.

“S’fine,” Harry mumbled.

“It’s just, you don’t look very good,” Neville added quietly. “Are you feeling all right?”

Harry inhaled deeply and then exhaled. Neville’s teeth were nibbling his lower lip and he looked really nervous, like he thought he’d be yelled at or sent away. “No,” Harry answered, “I’m not all right.”

Neville’s head jerked back slightly, in what was clearly shock, and then he walked closer slowly, as if he were approaching an injured wild animal. “Can I help?” he offered timidly.

“Sit down, will you?” When Neville tentatively sat beside him, Harry rubbed his neck lightly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Neville replied.

“Am I a bad person?” Harry asked.

“What?” Neville was staring at him in disbelief.

“I feel so stupid!” Harry declared. “I never even noticed before today. I live in this little magical bubble that repels anyone who wants to know me unless they’re Mione, a Weasley, or a professor.”

“Harry, you’re not a bad person,” Neville said.

“But how could I not notice? I’ve been such an arse to—”

“We got used to it,” Neville said softly.

“What?” Harry asked, pausing in his tirade.

“You being in a ‘repelling bubble’, we got used to it. I think most of the students learned their first few days here that they’d never get a chance to befriend you. You’re pretty well protected, Harry,” Neville said, trying to joke.

“What do you mean?” Harry inquired; he really didn’t understand that last bit.

“You haven’t noticed?” Neville asked in shock.

“Noticed what?” Harry asked.

“Merlin, I thought you knew but just didn’t—you’re almost impossible to talk to, Harry. Ron, Ginny, Hermione, one of them is almost always there taking up all your attention. When someone else tries to get your attention they all join forces and make the person leave. It’s sort of like… they own your friendship,” Neville said.

Harry stared at him in shock.

“I always thought you knew they did it, that you didn’t want any more friends, so I never really tried. I mean, what could I possibly give for your friendship?” Neville said sadly.

Harry’s eyes narrowed at that comment. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Neville met his eyes nervously, visibly worried about his next words. “Well, the Weasleys gave you an adoptive family, sort of, and I couldn’t ever do that. My parents are… and my gran...” Neville took a deep breath. “I’m not smart like Hermione, and I can’t help you study for your classes; I’m only good at Herbology, and, well, you don’t seem to like it much.”

Harry felt his throat swelling shut at the words that were coming from Neville’s mouth. Merlin, was that how people saw him? Was he so isolated and unapproachable that people thought the only way they could get to know him was to _buy_ his friendship? Harry felt sick to his stomach, and he quickly leaned forward, placed his head between his knees, and tried to breathe deeply.

He wasn’t a bad person; he was an idiot, a dunderhead.

“I can’t believe I never noticed,” he whispered miserably. He rose up and stared directly at Neville. “Neville, if it’s not too late, will you—will you be my friend?” he asked.

Neville twitched as disbelief and hope shined in his eyes. “But I don’t have anything to—”

“All I want in return is your friendship,” Harry quickly said. “I don’t need anything else. I don’t want anything else, just for you to be my friend.”

“Really?”

The hope in Neville’s voice almost brought tears to his eyes. He’d heard that before from his own lips when he’d learned that he was a wizard and that he’d be going to a magical school and away from the Dursleys. “Yes, really,” he replied.

“Of course!” Neville said quickly, as if he was afraid Harry would take the offer back and say ‘just kidding!’ He flushed a deep red. “I mean, yes, I’d like to be your friend.”

Harry smiled kindly at him. “Good!” He rubbed the back of his neck once again. “And, uh, just so you know, I don’t hate Herbology. I’m just usually too tired to pay attention,” he mumbled embarrassedly. “I really do like gardening. In fact, over the summer I tend to my relatives’ garden and lawn and—”

Neville’s mouth dropped open. He’d never known that about Harry. They actually did have something in common. “Aren’t they Muggles?” he asked.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, they are,” Harry replied.

Neville’s eyes began shining and he leaned forward. “Can you tell me about Muggle plants?”

Harry stared at him in shock for a moment, and then smiled fondly. “Sure Neville, I’ll tell you all about them.”

The time until dinner passed quickly for the two new friends as they slowly got to know each other better. Harry found himself relaxing in a way he hadn’t in a very long time. He didn’t feel pressured to go somewhere or do something. Neville’s presence was actually very calming and comforting, and he berated himself more than once for not noticing what a good person Neville was years ago.

He made a silent vow to himself that he would change. He didn’t want everyone to see him as the Boy Who Lived, and for that to happen he’d have to stop acting like it.

\--

Neville followed Harry back across the grounds and up to the school when it was time for dinner. They moved in sync, but Harry could still see the stunned look on Neville’s face and the cautious way he was acting. It was like Neville thought Harry would revert to his old self the moment they walked in the doors.

“Sit with me at dinner?” Harry asked casually.

A wide grin split Neville’s face. “Sure! That’d be nice,” he said softly. He blushed lightly, but walked confidently at Harry’s side. His every step practically screamed: Harry Potter accepted me!

It made Harry both happy and sad at the same time. He was happy to have made a friend, and that he was the reason Neville was in such a good mood, but he also thought it sad that all it had taken was a moment of his time and he’d never given it before.

He noticed the students stopping to stare at them curiously as they walked into the Entrance Hall, and did his best to ignore them for the moment. Yes, he might not be with Ron and Hermione, and this would likely become popular gossip, but he could deal with it. A new friendship was worth staring eyes and wagging tongues in his opinion.

They approached the Gryffindor table and Harry froze in mid-step. He wasn’t sure what to do. Normally he’d grab the seat between Ron and Hermione, but he didn’t want Neville to think he was lying earlier and would only be a friend when the other two were busy. Yet, at the same time, he didn’t want Ron and Hermione to think he wanted nothing to do with them. He’d have to handle this carefully.

He walked over and took a seat on the opposite side of the table from Ron and Hermione; it was also several seats down on the table, not directly across from them. He patiently waited for Neville to sit beside him and heard the chattering in the room grow louder when Neville sat down.

He glanced over and saw the hurt look on Hermione’s face and had to keep himself from reassuring her. This wasn’t meant as a cruel punishment; she wasn’t being thrown away, but he needed her to understand that what she’d done was wrong. He also wanted to make it clear from the beginning that he was going to have other friends as well.

“Good evening, Hermione,” he said.

The look on her face changed from hurt to perplexed. “Good evening, Harry,” she replied.

Harry took a deep breath. “Ron,” he said. Ron only grunted in reply, clearly still upset and angry about the announcement he’d made earlier in the common room. He was impressed that Ron wasn’t yelling and demanding answers yet.

A pair of soft footsteps sounded behind him and Harry turned around to lock gazes with Hannah Abbott. Her blonde hair was out of the usual pigtails, falling loosely down her back. She looked at him nervously before saying, “Um, Neville invited me to the table for dinner, is that still all right?”

Harry had to physically keep himself from wincing. His presence had this big of an effect? One afternoon spent with Neville and now she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to see him anymore? Then again, the people he spent time with never really spent time with anyone other than him and each other.

“Of course!” he replied, and he could hear Neville sigh in relief.

“Thanks, Harry,” she said with a smile. The smile completely transformed her face in Harry’s opinion. She went from being somewhat plain to beautiful. He could see why his friend was interested in someone who seemed so genuine and caring.

As she settled into the seat on the other side of Neville, he whispered, “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

Neville flushed. “I don’t. Hannah’s just a good friend of mine.”

“Sure,” Harry teased.

“Besides,” Neville muttered, “I don’t think she’d be interested in someone like me anyway.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed at that. “Someone like you? What do you mean by that exactly? You’re a good person, Neville.”

Neville looked at him sideways, a grateful but disbelieving expression on his face. “Harry, I think I know myself pretty well. I’ll never be much of a wizard or—”

“And why is that?” Harry asked.

“I’m not very powerful and—”

Harry hated that Neville thought so poorly of himself, and he would rectify that, regardless of the amount of people who were listening in. “Neville, you fought with me against Voldemort. You’re one of the few people I’d trust to have my back in a fight.”

“It’s true,” Hermione suddenly said from her place a few seats over. “Power isn’t everything, Neville. Sometimes it’s the courage to do the right thing that makes the difference,” she said softly.

“Hermione?” Neville asked with wide eyes.

As she spoke, Harry had hope that she would realize what she’d done and that she’d be able to change. He had no doubt that her overactive mind was analyzing all accusations he’d laid at her feet, creating theories to deny and accept his statements. It might take her a while, but she’d understand; he was sure of that.

“She’s right, mate. You did a good job,” Ron said around a mouthful of meat.

“Uh, thanks,” Neville replied, completely shocked. He’d gone to fight with them in the Ministry, but he’d clearly not honestly thought they’d appreciated his efforts. They were just so used to battling together they didn’t even bother thanking each other for saving their lives anymore. And how sad was that? However, that wasn’t something Neville would have known.

“We’d probably be dead if you and Luna hadn’t helped,” Harry said. He saw Ron and Hermione nodding in agreement. They might be at odds at the moment, but they were still his friends.

“Hey! I helped too!” Ginny called from further down the table.

“Yes, I know. I remember the lecture we got from your mum,” Harry said. Ginny burst into giggles, and just like that the serious atmosphere seemed to lessen.

He reached forward and placed some meat pie on his plate, grabbing his fork so that he could try it. He’s just lifted the fork to his mouth when someone cleared their throat softly. He glanced up and stared into Cormac’s pale blue eyes.

Cormac shifted slightly, revealing his nervousness to anyone perceptive enough to catch the subtle movement. “Can I?” He gestured vaguely to the empty seat across from Harry.

“Yeah, sure, go ahead and join us, Cormac,” Harry said.

“Thanks,” Cormac said.

Harry saw Ron’s face turning a nasty shade of red in his peripheral vision, but hoped that if he ignored it for the moment the fight could be held later in the dorm room, not the Great Hall.

“No problem,” he replied.

Cormac piled food on his plate, and kept his eyes focused down at the table. He seemed fascinated with the food, but all he did was push it around on his plate, never once lifting something to taste it. He finally took a deep breath and said, “I wanted to apologize.”

Harry could tell from the way he’d said the word that it wasn’t something he did often. “It’s all right,” Harry replied.

Cormac blinked up at him. “What?”

“I said it’s all right. You’re forgiven,” Harry replied.

“Why?” Cormac asked without a thought. “I almost hit you earlier and… why would you forgive me?”

He looked genuinely confused and Harry sighed. How could Harry possibly explain his feelings on the situation without exposing the horrid childhood he’d had. He wasn’t exactly ashamed of it, but he had no desire to open himself up to ridicule and pity from other students.

He opened his mouth to say it wasn’t a big deal, but snapped his mouth shut again when he thought of how those words might sound to Cormac. It didn’t seem like the boy had apologized many times in his life and he didn’t want to make it sound like the apology was meaningless.

He finally settled on saying, “I’ve had worse.”

“Oh?” Hannah asked curiously. She blushed when several pairs of eyes turned to look at her. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

“No, it’s fine,” Harry said. He shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, Voldemort’s Cruciated me before. I’ve been attacked by Dementors. Lockhart made all the bones in my arm vanish—getting punched couldn’t hurt nearly as much as those do.”

Cormac stared at him in shock, mouth clenching tighter with every item he listed. “Merlin’s Bollocks,” he said softly. Everyone within hearing distance agreed with that statement. Compared to those things, getting almost punched would certainly seem like a minor inconvenience wouldn’t it?

“What?” Harry asked, oblivious to the shock and confusion he’d just caused.

“Uh, Harry,” Hannah said softly.

“Yes?” he asked. He glanced to the side to see what she wanted, but froze when he saw how pale Neville had become. “Shit! I’m sorry, Neville! I wasn’t thinking and—”

“It’s all right, Harry,” Neville said.

Harry shook his head franticly. “No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have—”

“Really, it’s all right,” Neville repeated.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked as he nibbled his lip. Merlin, he really sucked at this friendship thing. They’d only been friends a few hours and he was already being an insensitive prat.

“Yes,” he said decisively. “Let’s eat.”

“Right,” Harry mumbled. He poked his fork into his meat pie unenthusiastically. He could literally hear Snape in his head saying, ‘Brilliant Potter, very tactful. It’s always impressive to casually mention curses that were used during torture to drive your friend’s parents insane.’

He’d just taken a tentative bite and was chewing his dinner when he realized something painfully obvious. He’d forgotten to ask some of the Chasers to be on the Pitch tomorrow morning to help with the re-tryouts. He leaned forward and looked down the table, pausing when his eyes landed on Katie Bell.

“Uh, Katie?” he called.

She paused in her conversation and turned to look at him in shock. “Yes, Harry?”

“Can you help out tomorrow morning? I mean for the Keeper trials?” he asked. He felt like an idiot for overlooking such a large detail. How were the trials going to be held if the Keepers had nothing to defend against?

Katie laughed. “Yeah, I figured you’d need us. Demelza, Ginny, and I will be there, Harry.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and flushed. “Thanks!” he called.

“You’re welcome,” they replied in unison.

“It’s not fair,” a voice to his left mumbled, and Harry winced. It looked like the fight was going to take place in public after all.

“It is fair, Ron,” he said tiredly. “In fact, I’m making it completely fair.”

“But I won the spot!” Ron declared heatedly. He was a deep red at this point and even his ears were starting to flush.

“Yes, you did win the position this morning—”

“Well then why do the trials have to be redone?” he asked in a demanding tone of voice.

Harry sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He could feel tension mounting in the muscles there, as it always did when he was frustrated or annoyed.

“They just do,” he said.

He saw the pleased and confused look on Cormac’s face. One emotion would govern it, the other would take over, and then they would quickly switch places once again. He was obviously excited that he was being given a second chance to make the team, but at the same time his love for Quidditch told him that Ron Weasley had already won the position, no matter how disappointed he may be.

“I have a right to know!” Ron snapped.

“I must admit I’m curious as well,” Cormac said.

Ron turned and glared at him. “Stay out of this! This is between me and Harry!” His blue eyes were fiery and vengeful as they glared at Cormac.

“Ron, stop it. This isn’t Cormac’s fault,” Harry said.

“Oh, so he’s ‘Cormac’ now is he?” Ron drawled with a sneer, sounding and looking a great deal like Malfoy.

“Ron, don’t do this,” Harry said very slowly, enunciating each word with absolutely perfect diction. Ron was one of his dearest friends, his first friend. He accepted that Ron could be a jealous prat—his friend had several other qualities that more than made up for that side of his personality, but right now, at this moment, he couldn’t see any of them in his friend’s actions.

He watched as Ron took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He saw Ron’s lips moving and stared at them. Four, five, Ron was counting silently. Harry felt really proud of him in that moment; Ron was actually trying to control himself.

When Ron opened his eyes again, there was a lot less rage in them. His jaw clenched as he forced the words from his mouth, making sure not to demand anything. “Would you tell me why they must be redone, _please_ ,” he asked placing special emphasis on the last word.

Harry glanced up at the High Table and locked gazes with McGonagall. She’d been following their loud _discussion_ , just as the rest of the room likely was. She inclined her head once, and Harry took that as permission to tell them what had happened.

Harry looked across the table, locking eyes with Cormac McLaggen. He stared straight into them as he answered Ron’s question. “I found out after the tryouts were done that Cormac had been Confounded,” he said succinctly.

Cormac’s cheek muscles spasmed, and if Harry guessed correctly, he’d say that the other boy had just bitten into his cheek. His whole demeanor changed, becoming frosty and cold. It was a direct contrast to the hotheaded git he’d been earlier in the day. Harry could practically see the information processing in his mind. And he saw the moment it finally clicked, because Cormac’s grip on his fork tightened so much it snapped in half. The broken handle fell down and smashed against the floor, creating an echoing clanging sound in the large chamber.

As if that had been some secret signal, voices rose in a loud clamor. Each person seemed to be trying to speak louder than the one next to them. Gossip and speculations were running rampant around the room.

“I think you did the right thing, Harry,” Neville said softly from beside him. “Most people wouldn’t have cared, especially not if their best friend had won the spot.”

“Thanks, Neville,” Harry replied.

“I agree, Harry,” Hannah said. She smiled kindly at him. “You’re a really good person.”

Harry flushed. “Thanks,” he mumbled embarrassedly.

“What did you just say?” Ron asked dangerously.

Harry’s head shot up and he looked directly into his friend’s rage-filled eyes. “I said Cormac was Confounded during the tryouts,” he repeated.

Ron made a fist and punched the table. “Are you fucking serious, mate?” he asked.

“Yes, I am,” Harry replied. He saw Ron twitching in place and hoped curses and hexes wouldn’t be flying through the air in a few moments.

“Someone cheated at Quidditch?” Ron glared down at his plate, picked it up, and then threw it against the wall. “Who was it? I’m going to hex them into the infirmary!” he spat.

Harry saw several people along the table, including Cormac, nod in agreement. He saw McGonagall get to her feet and head down from the platform, likely coming to berate Ron for throwing his plate.

“Ron,” Harry began, “I don’t think—”

“Only the lowest of bastards would do something like that! Hell, not even Malfoy would stoop so low as to disrespect the game by rigging the tryouts! He might have bought his way onto the team, but they wouldn’t have let him if he wasn’t skilled enough for the position.”  Harry, who happened to be sitting in such a place that he could see Malfoy, saw the pleased look on the Slytherin’s face at those words. It faded a moment later when Ron said, “Not that he has a chance in hell of winning against you, mate.”

“Uh, thanks,” Harry said.

His gaze drifted to the side and he saw that Hermione was shrinking down more and more with every word that spewed from Ron’s mouth. The mutters of outrage and disgust that came from the Gryffindor students, as well as the students from other tables seemed to hit her like blows. She kept curling in more and more, like she was trying to guard an open wound.

Harry could only hope that this would open her eyes. Maybe she would finally be able to understand…

“Mr. Weasley, fifteen points from Gryffindor for conduct unbecoming a student,” McGonagall said as she came to a stop right behind him.

For once, no one protested the loss of house points. They all agreed with what he’d done; they were just as offended as Ron was. I mean, this was Quidditch! People weren’t supposed to cheat at Quidditch. They could curse each other in the halls, steal other people’s homework, and test new products on first-years, but one simply didn’t cheat at Quidditch!

“Right then,” Ron said with a little less heat in his voice. “I’ll be there in the morning. I don’t want the position when I didn’t really earn it.” He turned and stared directly at Cormac McLaggen. “I expect you to do your best tomorrow,” he ordered. “I want to know I’m the best choice or I don’t want to play at all.”

Cormac smirked. “I’ll definitely bring my best game,” he replied.

“Good,” Ron said. “That way when I wipe your face across the grass you’ll know it’s because I’m just that good.”

Cormac’s smirk could almost be described as a grin as he stared at Ron. “Likewise.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing this contest of wills,” Harry said. He grinned at them, and there was an almost demonic look in his eyes. “Everyone on my team is going to work hard all year. We’ve kept the Quidditch Cup since I was a third-year, and we’re not going to lose it—not while I’m Captain!”

“Yes, slave-driver Wood—I mean, Captain Potter, sir!” Katie called from down the table.

Harry chuckled loudly and then took a bite of his, now cold, meat pie. His gaze traveled between Ron and Cormac again and he grinned. It looked like he might have a chance to make another friend.

He accepted the pudding that Neville handed him and began eating it voraciously. He suddenly realized that he was extremely hungry. As he ate his dessert he found himself gazing at his two oldest friends fondly. Things were changing, that much was obvious, but it didn’t look like he’d lose them.

Ron had learned to moderate his feelings, and was getting better at it.

And Hermione, well, if the way she was slightly hunched over was any indication it looked like she’d finally realized where the lines were. Now the only concern left was: could she stop herself from crossing them?

\--

Harry Potter was hovering over the Pitch on his Firebolt, watching the Chasers attempt to score against Ron Weasley. His friend had been offered the chance to go first, since he’d won yesterday, and he’d taken it. Harry figured it had something to do with timing. The longer Ron had to wait, the more nervous he’d be. Besides, if Cormac went first, and did well, it’d mess with Ron’s confidence even more. At least Ron was willing to admit to that.

The Quaffle went flying through the air, thrown by Ginny, aimed for the middle ring. Ron did a quick turn and caught it right before it’d go through. He was three for three at the moment, and flying quite well, despite the early hour and the somewhat fierce winds.

Harry’s grip on his broom tightened as the wind tugged at him, catching in his Quidditch robes and pulling him backward slightly. He shifted his hold and leaned forward a bit, angling himself so that the wind would break more easily around him.

Katie was tearing down the Pitch, maneuvering through the sky with ease. She corkscrewed to the side in a roll and pulled her arm back. Instead of throwing the Quaffle at a ring, she passed it over to Demelza. The girl caught the Quaffle and aimed for the left ring. Her shot was true and it made it through the ring a moment before Ron got there.

“Bugger,” Ron muttered.

“Nice shot, Demelza!” Harry called. She was one of his newest Chasers; this would be her first year on the team, and this extra practice was already helping her. She was working well with Katie and Ginny.

“Last run of the regular trials before you switch,” Katie yelled to Ron.

“Right,” he replied. His face narrowed in concentration and he focused on the Quaffle with single-minded determination. To have a chance for the position, he’d need to save this shot.

All three of the Chasers flew at him together, casually but skillfully passing the Quaffle back and forth in a manner that was difficult to follow. The passes seemed to have no particular order at all.

Ginny caught it and suddenly performed a forward three-sixty, adding strength and momentum to her shot as she hurled the ball toward the middle ring. They paused curiously to see what would happen.

Ron tugged his broom to the left and smacked the Quaffle back toward them with the end of his broom.

“Nice save, Ron!” Ginny said good-naturedly as she caught it, though there was a slight hint of frustration in her voice.

“Nice shot, Gin,” Ron replied smugly. He’d seen his sister practicing that move over the summer at the Burrow, so he knew how to counter it.

“Cormac, you’re up!” Harry called from his place in the air.

“Right!” Cormac replied as he mounted his broom and shot up to trade places with Ron. He smirked at Ron and said, “Not bad, Weasley. But I’m still going to smear you across the Pitch.”

Ron laughed. “You wish!” He flew over to hover beside Harry and watch Cormac’s tryout.

Cormac deflected the first three shots masterfully. Then again, Harry had heard that most purebloods had their own Pitch. Cormac likely got to practice and play whenever he wanted over the summer. It showed in the way he balanced on the broom and shifted just slightly to most effectively repel the attack. Harry could tell he’d spent a lot of time in that air.

Harry felt slightly ashamed of himself for not noticing such things yesterday. Then again, Cormac had been Confounded yesterday and likely hadn’t been able to show this level of skill. It made him wonder though precisely when Hermione had hexed Cormac. If he’d managed to save four shots yesterday while Confounded, that’d be brilliant!

His eyes narrowed in concentration as Demelza approached the rings with the Quaffle in her hand. There was something odd about the way she was holding it and he was determined to figure out what it was. As she pulled her arm back to loft it forward, she twisted her wrist slightly, fingers clenching around one of the ball’s indentations. The Quaffle flew forward, curving far to the right, looking like it’d miss, and then twisted sharply in the air, shooting left at a fierce angle.

Harry saw shock appear on Cormac’s face, and then a small smirk took its place. Cormac corkscrewed to the right, and then flipped over backward, catching the Quaffle on the edge of his foot and kicking it back to the Chasers.

Cormac wasn’t the type of person who went around complimenting others, but the nod he gave to Demelza brought a smile to the girl’s face. It was an acknowledgement of her skill, and a high bit of praise all at the same time.

“Bugger me. I would’ve missed that,” Ron grumbled. “Why didn’t she throw me that ball?”

“She’s been adjusting her wrist all morning,” Harry replied. “I guess she finally found what she was looking for.”

“Bloody brilliant,” Ron said enthusiastically. “We could slaughter Slytherin with a throw like that.”

Harry smirked. It would make things more interesting. It wasn’t something they’d show carelessly, that was for sure. It was more of a special move to score when it was really needed. “Time!” Harry called.

“What’re you doing? There’s still one try left,” Ron said.

Harry ignored him and flew lower until he met up with the players. “Is something wrong, Harry?” Katie asked. “He gets another shot still.”

“You’re doing great,” Harry assured him. The tension left Cormac’s face and Harry realized that he was afraid he’d already failed somehow. “I was just wondering if we could do a little experiment.”

“Oh?” Cormac asked.

“Yeah.” Harry turned and looked directly at Demelza. “Do you think you can change the angle of that shot every time? It’d make it very hard for opposing Keepers to intercept.”

She nibbled her lip thoughtfully. “I think I can. It would depend on how I turned my wrist and how quickly, and how much my elbow was bent when I throw it,” she explained.

“Can you girls give Demelza the Quaffle? I don’t want to make it seem like your skills don’t matter, but—”

Katie laughed. “We’re not offended, Harry. Ginny and I can both understand what an important move this would be in a match.”

“It’s fine, Harry,” Ginny added.

“Is it all right, Cormac?” Harry asked. “It wouldn’t count against you or anything; I’m just curious is all.”

“So am I,” he said. “I don’t mind.” He stared at Demelza intensely. “Give me your best shot.” Then he pulled on his broom handle and spun around, flying back over to defend the rings.

“Thanks,” Harry told her before pushing his broom higher in the air. He wanted to get a good perspective on this next shot.

“Having her test the shot?” Ron asked when he got back to him.

“Mmhmm,” Harry mumbled.

“Smart idea,” Ron grudgingly admitted.

Harry didn’t respond because his attention was completely focused on Demelza Robins. She was tearing through the sky on her broom, hunching over just slightly as she approached Cormac. Her wrist turned to the right, her elbow bent almost all the way, and then it flicked, shooting the Quaffle forward into the air. It traveled almost straight toward the right ring before abruptly spinning off to the left.

Harry’s mouth dropped open when Cormac, who’d been in front of the right ring, quickly performed a Sloth Grip Roll and reappeared in front of the left ring. However, he was too high, and the Quaffle was going to pass under him… or so Harry thought.

Cormac curled both hands around the handle of his broom and yanked hard, flipping over backwards twice and heading lower in the air. His feet hooked around the end of his broom and he was standing vertically on the end for a moment, broom pressed to his chest. The edge of the bristles slammed into the Quaffle knocking it off course and away from the ring.

“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed. “That was fucking brilliant!”

Harry’s heart was racing with fear. He’d tried to do that once, and he’d barely pulled it off on his Firebolt. Cormac was using a Nimbus 2001, and while it was a good broom, it didn’t have near the maneuverability that the Firebolt did. That was a fancy and dangerous piece of flying, yet he’d made it look effortless.

“Bugger,” Ron muttered softly.

Harry glanced over to see that his friend was grinding his teeth together. “What is it?”

“There’s no need to pretend, Harry. He’s better,” Ron said grudgingly. “I definitely wouldn’t have been able to save that.”

Harry glanced away from his friend quickly. It was true. Ron loved Quidditch, and he was good, but he wasn’t that good. “I—” He didn’t really know what to say. Yes, he’d wanted it to be fair, and Cormac had proven to be better. Yes, Cormac would be given the Keeper position, that much was obvious, but he wasn’t quite sure how to put it into words. “Ron—”

Ron flew away before he could say anything else. When he saw that his friend was streaking down toward Cormac, he quickly chased after him. “What does he intend to do?” Harry asked softly. He was really hoping a fight wouldn’t break out in the air.

Ginny, Katie, and Demelza had noticed and were flying towards the pair, ordering Ron not to do anything stupid.

Ron’s broom stopped when it reached Cormac, and he reached over and fisted a hand in the larger boy’s Quidditch robes. He yanked Cormac forward until their faces were close together, eyes seeming to inspect the other boy carefully. A wry grin appeared on his face, and then he said, “If Gryffindor loses one match this year, I’m going to curse you for weeks on end.”

The frigidness in Cormac’s eyes vanished and a smirk appeared on his face. “If Gryffindor loses this season, it won’t be because of me,” he said.

Ron started sniggering and abruptly released his hold on Cormac’s robes. “See to it that you keep your word,” he said seriously.

“I will,” Cormac replied just as the others reached them. He turned and gazed at Harry after scanning Ron thoughtfully. “We could always use a strategist.”

Harry smirked and glanced over at Ron. “It is something that the git’s good at.”

Ron’s mouth opened and closed in offense. “Git? I’m not Snape!” he snapped.

They chuckled loudly for a moment. True, he may not be Snape, but Ron could still be a git. Harry didn’t doubt that his friend would have objected to the label more strenuously if he hadn’t said it with clear affection in his voice.

“Well, what do you say?” Harry asked.

“About what?” Ron grumbled.

“Being our strategist, you prat,” Ginny said.

Ron blinked. “Strategist… you mean I’d still be a part of the team?” Happiness started to reappear in his eyes as he asked the question.

“Well mate, what do you say? Would you like to be part of the team?” Harry inquired.

“You’ll have to come to practices,” Katie said.

“And actually do research to make us the best,” Demelza added.

“I doubt he’d have trouble researching Quidditch. He practically worships it,” Ginny teased.

“Oi! Don’t bash Quidditch!” Ron said indignantly. “Quidditch is the best game ever! It’s a gift from Merlin and—”

The girls burst into giggles and Harry snorted as he starting waxing poetic about the game they all loved. They’d all thought something similar in their lives, but they didn’t feel the need to say so aloud.

“Yes or no, Weasley?” Cormac interrupted.

Ron paused in his diatribe and stared at Cormac, horrified his speech had been interrupted. Then the question seemed to finally pierce the haze in his mind. “Oh! Yes, I’ll do it. Someone’s got to keep you all from using last year’s moves, especially if we want to keep the Quidditch Cup!”

Harry growled fiercely.

“Eh heh,” Ron mumbled and patted Harry’s back reassuringly. “I mean, we’re definitely keeping that Quidditch Cup! Harry’s Captain and we’ve got a great team. We’re not going to lose.”

“That’s right!”

“They’re all going down!”

“The Cup will be ours for sure!”

“You’re bloody right, we’ll win!”

Harry smiled widely at his team, well, the members who were present anyway. “Let’s clean up and head back up to the school. Breakfast will start in a half hour and then we have classes after that. I’ll post the official roster later and then make sure McGonagall knows. Regular practices will start next week, and I expect all of you to do your very best. No one slacks off on my team.”

“Yes, Captain Potter, sir,” they replied mockingly.

Harry grinned at them cheekily and then said, “Well, what’re you waiting for?”

They all flew down and entered the locker rooms, separating by gender to shower and change. Harry was smiling and whistling softly as he scrubbed himself clean beneath the showerhead. This was going to be an awesome season, and if everyone played well, the Cup would easily be theirs.

Katie worked with Ginny and Demelza as well as she’d worked with Angelina and Alicia. The three of them just seemed to click. Their movements were erratic, but they always seemed to be aware of what the others were doing. With a little training, okay, a lot, he could definitely see them creating unique signs and moves. Ron would be able to help them with that.

For Beaters, he’d decided that Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote would work best. They weren’t as good as the Weasley twins had been, but they were enthusiastic, strong, and hard-working. They’d certainly be a benefit to the team. Plus, they worked very well together in tandem. He was sure that some intense training would get them more of the experience they clearly needed.

He’d obviously won the position for Seeker… not that anyone else had really tried out against him.

As for the Keeper, Cormac McLaggen had really proven himself today, which made what Hermione had done to him seem even worse than before. Cormac had talent, and lots of it. His actions the day before made a lot more sense now. If he usually played at the level he did today, then he wouldn’t have been able to find any reason for his deplorable performance yesterday.

He was glad that he’d stood up for what he thought was right and had the Keeper trials redone. Cormac had every right to be on their team; he was brilliant. And that horrible attitude he’d had yesterday morning was nowhere to be seen.

Cormac was an interesting puzzle, Harry thought as he dried off and walked over to his locker. And if how he acted today in practice was a true indication of his personality, then Harry was sure he’d be making a new friend, as well as winning the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor.

He tugged on his school robes and headed for the door, planning on going up to get some breakfast. He noticed that he and Cormac were the only two left in the locker room and smiled over at his new Keeper. “Breakfast?” he asked.

“Sounds good,” Cormac replied.

Harry pushed open the door and stepped out into the sunlight with Cormac at his side. He paused when he saw Hermione standing before them, nervously fiddling her fingers together and staring down at the ground.

“Mione,” he said softly, tone of voice neither cold nor warm.

She swallowed and then looked up at Cormac, tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Yesterday, I’m the one who Confounded you. It’s just—” She swallowed thickly and the tears spilled over. “You were saying mean things about Ron and Ginny, and other than Harry they’re the only friends I’ve ever had. So I thought—” She snorted and wiped her eyes. “I guess I really didn’t think at all, did I?” She bit her lower lip and gazed at him. “Can you forgive me?”

Cormac stared at her intently and then did something unexpected. “Why are you apologizing?”

Harry stared between the two of them, confused. Surely that was obvious!

Hermione seemed to understand what he meant though, because she replied, “It’s not because I was caught, for there was always a chance of that. And it’s not because Harry’s mad at me, though that did make me think about what I’d done.” She gazed down at her shoes for a moment and then looked back up at him. “I was _wrong_ ,” she said slowly, as though those words in that order baffled her.

“What made you realize that?” he asked.

“Dinner yesterday. When I saw you sitting with Harry, Hannah, and Neville, I realized what was really going on; you’re jealous,” she said, not being unkind about it. “You just wanted to be friends with Harry too, and we weren’t sharing him.”

Cormac smiled wryly, and then inclined his head. “I apologize for talking about the Weasleys like that.”

“You’re forgiven,” Hermione replied.

“As are you,” Cormac stated.

Harry glanced back and forth between them as silence fell. He grinned widely. “Breakfast?” he asked.

“Yes, breakfast sounds lovely,” Hermione said.

“I’m hungry,” Cormac added.

As they began walking back up to the school proper, Harry between his two friends, he couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across his face. For so long, Harry had wanted things to remain the same, because he was comfortable with the familiar. Now though—things were changing.

And Harry couldn’t be happier.

 


End file.
